


Rituals

by Cloudlb



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-13
Updated: 2010-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudlb/pseuds/Cloudlb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair wants a house.  Jim is a traditionalist, and ritual is Blair's bailiwick.  Takes a common theme and adds a cliche.  Extreme fluff! AU; Unbeta'd</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Courtship

Part 1: The Courtship

Jim grimaced as he peered at the meager offerings in the small refrigerator. Things between him and Blair had been on an even keel since Blair became an official cop, but their workload had been brutal lately. Sandburg's schedule was just as crazy as it had always been, since he still managed to cram anthropological stuff and volunteer stuff in, too. Turns out there were plenty of other opportunities for Ph.D. in anthropology that didn't involve Rainier University. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Jim thought.

It was a dismal night out, wet and sloppy; but they needed provisions, so Blair had gone off to the store. If he concentrated, Jim could hear the splashes, plops, and susurration of the sodden city. People's feet went *smack-pop-splash* as they walked through puddles. Rain on the roofs sounded one way; rain dripping off eaves and onto the street sounded another. Cars made soft *whissst splash* sounds constantly as they accelerated and decelerated on the wet streets. It was all background noise which Jim had learned to filter out and filter through to find the sounds he always longed to hear.

Jim could hear one now--his partner's ancient vehicle as it wheezed into a parking spot a ways down the street. He frowned, annoyed that parking on the street had gotten so bad after the coffee place had opened around the corner. Jim pulled out a package of chopped bison steaks to defrost, automatically averting his eyes from the frozen ice crystals, lest he be drawn in too far while admiring their structure.

It was raining pretty hard and Blair was complaining bitterly, cursing in several languages as he slogged toward the building entrance. Jim smelled produce, coffee, wet paper, and wet Sandburg. Jim washed his hands and set out to help his partner. Before he got to the door, Blair banged it open, his wet hair plastered to his face, and his arms full of paper grocery bags. "Here, goddamnit! I've got another load." Thrusting the bags toward Jim, they awkwardly exchanged them.

"Let me put a jacket on. I'll help."

Shaking his head, Blair said, "No, no. No need for both of us to drip all over. I'm just going to go get the rest." And he turned to trudge back out the door.

Jim eyed the puddle left behind on the floor, and decided he would wait a few minutes to mop up the inevitable aftermath. He tracked Blair with his hearing all the way out to the car and back, and if anything, Blair just sounded more and more pissed off. Jim sighed. Blair didn't often get like this, but he glanced around for likely projectiles just in case. Sometimes the stress and frustration of their job just got too much, and Blair always took on so many responsibilities--including guiding a needy Sentinel.

"Goddamn it. I've had it! I swear to god, Jim, I have had it with this third floor walk-up shit." Blair slung more grocery bags up to the counter, and Jim rushed to help him with a couple of paper bags that were quickly crumbling. Missing one, it disintegrated, baggies of various produce rolled around the floor. Blair didn't notice, a furious look on his face, soaking wet down to his skin, even with his jacket and hat on. He threw the hat off his head in disgust.

Stepping up to Jim, Blair poked him in the chest with a finger, a gesture he knew was sure to get Jim riled up. He delivered a bombshell. "I want a house!"

Jim's world seemed to freeze just for a moment. But Blair wasn't finished. "A house, Jim! No more goddamn flights of stairs. A place to park! Huh? How would that be?" Blair squished over to his bedroom, beginning to peel wet clothes off as he talked. "I'm so sick and tired of that *hijo de puta* elevator not working half the time. Half the time! How about never? Why don't we complain to the landlord, huh?"

Jim felt like his heart was going to explode. He felt a pain in his chest like his heart was breaking, and felt every hair on his body stand up. His senses pulsed nauseatingly--he smelled bacon and laundry, the light started to strobe in and out. Blair wanted to move out! No! Not, now. Not after everything was going great. Blair was a cop and a damn good one, and a fantastic partner. The best partner he could ever ask for! Things were going great, weren't they? And Blair loved the loft, didn't he?

Didn't he?

He sank down on the couch in shock. Blair couldn't leave him, he just *couldn't.*

Wet splats could be heard now as Blair toed off his shoes and socks. Jim tried not to think of the wet clothes on his floor. After all, his world was crashing down around him.

"Jim. Jim!"

Huh? He looked up at Blair's face. Still wet, still pissed off looking; but concerned, too--and floating above a naked chest now, over wet jeans.

"Oh, Jim. Don't do this to me! What is your problem?"

Jim clutched at his Guide's cold bare arms. "Don't leave! You can't leave!"

Blair gave him a look like he was a silly child; a look that comforted him even as it pissed him off. "Jim, you idiot! That's not what I was talking about at all. I'm not leaving!"

"You're not?" God, could he sound any more pathetic? "But . . . you said—"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Calm down. I'm not leaving!" He walked off toward the bathroom, slinging a towel over his shoulders.

Oh. Okay.

He could hear Blair continue to talk to him as if he were right next to him, instead of in the next room. Usually Blair communicated to him like a normal person, instead of a person imbued with--Jim sighed internally--super hearing. But sometimes, for effect, or in emergencies, Blair employed a special Sentinel whammy version of communication. Jim could never, ever avoid him, and Blair knew it. He had no choice to listen, even over the water now running in the shower.

"All I'm saying, Jim, is maybe we could look into some real estate. You know? We've got that extra money from the lawsuit settlement, and I know we agreed to sit on it for a while, but we could get a house. A house, you know? With a ground floor? And a garden? And how 'bout this bathroom, huh? What about a nice, big bathroom, with two sinks! And a nice, big hot water heater."

Sounds of ablution.

"Jim, come on, man. You gotta know I'm not going to leave. Jesus, you are so insecure! I know you love the loft, man, I know, and so do I. It's just--I don't know, man." Blair sighed, and for a long time the only sounds Jim heard were of a man trying to wash off stress and frustration along with the mud.

Jim sat and thought about that terrifying pain felt when he thought that Blair was planning to leave him. He still felt the tremors of that pain throughout his body, more painful than any shooting. Jim realized with a soul-deep certainty that he never wanted to experience that pain again.

So, Blair wanted a house, did he? Jim frowned, unaware that he was sitting in the dark, with the kitchen faucet spitting water over the bison steaks, half of his mind and body on his partner messing around in the bathroom, and half on the conundrum presented to him. Move out of the loft? He looked around. He loved the loft. It was his! It had always and ever been his, even when he and Carolyn were married. He thought about that a little.

Whoops. His Guide was standing in front of him again. He raised his eyes. Blair's hair was wrapped in a towel and he had his hands on his sweat-panted hips. And he wasn't going away, he said. Good. Jim had to make sure that never happened.

"And no offense man, but what about the whole closet under the stairs thing? Don't you think I might rate a whole bedroom one of these days? All I'm saying is, think about it. We can look at some options, some numbers and—think about it, okay?" Blair didn't look pissed anymore, he looked hopeful. Hopeful was good.

"Yeah, okay, Sandburg, I'll think about it." Big sigh as he stood up. "How about we clean up all this mess. Jesus, do we really need all these vegetables? I swear I'm gonna grow leaves one of these days."

***

And he did think about it. For the next several days it was never far from his mind. He considered his instinctive, knee-jerk negation of the idea. He considered the fact that he was actually considering moving out of his beloved loft. For Blair.

He knew that Carolyn had disliked the loft. Her personal taste in home decoration was rather frillier. It was where she showed her feminine side, such as it was. But the loft was trendy, and had good bones, which made up for a lot. Several times though, she had mentioned house hunting, and Jim had cut her cold. No, he said, we live in the loft. That was the deal. It was convenient, and it suited Jim. So it didn't suit his wife much, so what? He had never even considered moving.

Until now. Blair had a point. As convenient as the loft was to downtown where they worked, it wasn't terribly suited to two grown men. As Blair had pointed out, there was no parking, the single bathroom was small, and the kitchen—Jim remembered the conversation about the kitchen two nights ago, as they were preparing dinner.

"What's the matter with the kitchen?" He looked around Sandburg, reaching for the spices in the cupboard over his head. Blair ducked.

"Don't you see?" He patted the back of his hand against Jim's chest. "We're in awful close quarters here. Your appliances are ancient, man. Like you." The younger man laughed and danced away. "We could get something with a prep sink, you know." Blair held out his hands and pranced around like a TV design-show diva. "Extra big sink, bigger prep surfaces, maybe a beverage station. More storage." He glanced over at Jim, mischievously. "So we wouldn't keep bumping into each other when cook."

Jim frowned to himself. But what if he liked it when they bumped into each other?

Jim considered *that* thought for a few more days.

For a whole week, he thought about exactly what Blair meant to him. He pondered things he usually didn't allow himself to acknowledge. He thought about the connection between Sentinel and Guide. He thought about Blair's bedroom under the stairs. He thought about their careers as police officers. He thought about the rest of their lives.

And though some might describe him otherwise, Jim Ellison was a very intelligent man. He realized what the pattern of lying to himself and avoiding the difficult and painful had cost him in his life, and he vowed it would not cost him the best thing that had ever happened to him. So, being the brave and skilled warrior that he was, he made his plans.

***

"Oooh, man, what's the occasion?" Blair took in the loft, dimly lit and redolent with cooking smells. The table was set with placemats and the good china and silver that Jim only brought out for holidays. The sets belonged to Jim's mother, and were delivered as a wedding gift to Jim and Carolyn by Jim's father, in absentia.

"Hey, Blair." Jim frowned as he got a good look as his partner. "What happened to you? You look like you've been rolling around in the dirt."

"Yep. Dirt and mud are my world. I helped out Roger Hanson—you know, the Third District sergeant? There was a whole slew of puppies Animal Control had to rescue from a drainage canal back side of Talbot Street. You should have seen it, man! Police, fire department, Animal Control, heavy equipment—more monkeys than a circus for those little pups." He plucked his muddy shirt ruefully.

"At least you didn't bring one home." Although, if they got a house . . .

"Something smells awfully good." Blair looked doubtfully at his Sentinel. "You have a date or something?" Neither man had dated in months. Or was it years? By his expression, Blair wondered if he about to be kicked out of his home for the night after chasing through drains and mud after puppies.

"Or something. Why don't you go change?" It seems like he was always ordering Blair to get out of his clothes. Must be an omen.

Half an hour later, once again warm and dry, Blair accepted a glass of good wine from Jim. His face clearly demanded an explanation. He watched his Sentinel warily, but Jim was nervous, hyped, preparing the table and putting last minute touches on the dinner.

Finally, Jim cleared his throat, and said, "It's an anniversary, see? The first anniversary of me--being flexible. Gotta be a first time, you know."

"What?" said Blair, amused.

Jim got them situated at the table, and started to dish out the chicken pasta dish he made. "I told you I was considering what you said. You know—about the house." Jim's glance was less calm than he pretended to be.

"Yeah?" said Blair, taking a bite of his pasta. "And did you?"

Jim nodded, grateful for the straight line. "Yes, I did."

Unfortunately, Jim didn't seem ready to talk after that, so Blair had to prod him again. "And?"

"I, uh, would like to discuss it, seriously. Just—after dinner, okay? I just want to say—" Jim looked away, his face in some distress. "I've got a lot of things to say, actually, and I don't want to mess it up. Afterwards, okay? Can we relax and enjoy the dinner?"

Blair looked at him searchingly for a moment, then shrugged and dug into his meal. Giving every evidence of relaxing and enjoying it as ordered, the younger man changed the subject to a childhood autism charity they were involved with.

But Jim could tell that Blair hadn't forgotten. He ate fast, so as not to keep his friend in suspense any longer. He felt the outline of the small box in his pocket, and tasted little of the meal he had so carefully prepared.

***

"So."

Jim knew Blair was dying of curiosity. He felt like he was dying himself; like he was jumping off a cliff. He rehearsed his speech again in his mind as he arranged himself on the couch next to his partner.

Jim shifted. He cleared his throat. Blair crossed his arms. Oh, that was not good. Try again. He closed his eyes and centered himself. This was important! Opening his eyes, he moved closer to Blair. "Blair, give me a second, here. This is hard." Taking one of Blair's hands in his, he continued. "Yes, I said I would consider moving, and I have."

His manner was so grave, that Blair said, "And the answer is no? So what, this is a consolation dinner?"

"No. No consolation prize here. This is the whole enchilada."

Blair's face was amused, but his scent and pulse indicated anxiety. "Jim, we had pasta."

"Shut up, Junior, I'm making a speech here." And, grinning at each other, they both suddenly knew it was going to be all right.

"Specifically, I have considered it. And have come to some conclusions. But the big question in my mind is: Why was I considering it at all?"

"Um . . . because I asked you to?" Blair said, impishly.

"Exactly. Because you asked me to." Jim looked straight into Blair's eyes. "Blair, Carolyn didn't like the loft too much either. But I flatly refused to even *consider* moving. But you ask, and suddenly my whole life is turned around."

"But why, Jim? Does it matter so much where we live?"

"No, it doesn't! That's the point. I'd live anywhere, so long as you were there, Blair. I would never move for Carolyn. But I love you far, far more than I ever loved Carolyn."

Blair gasped, but Jim went on. "I don't care if we live in a shack in the Canadian wilds, but I don't want you to leave. If you want a house, we'll get a house." Softly, "Whither thou goest, Chief, I will go."

Ignoring Blair's suddenly skyrocketing heart rate, Jim reached out to caress the younger man's brow. "I've been doing some hard thinking about our lives, Blair, and I'm ready for some changes. A house is a good start. And, I've been thinking about another change, too." He reached into his pocket, and brought an object out. Blair watched him with wide eyes, hardly daring to breathe.

"I want to marry you, Blair. Will you be my spouse?" Taking advantage of his partner's unusual flabbergasted silence, Jim put the small box in Blair's hand.

"Marry you?" Blair sounded dazed. "But—" Suddenly, Blair took a deep breath, and said, "Yes!"

What? Jim thought he wasn't hearing right past the thundering in his ears. "Yes? Yes, just like that? I mean, that's great, but I thought you'd have questions –"

"Oh, I have questions, all right, big guy, like how exactly you had the balls to do this—"

"Hey!"

"—but if you think I'm going to give you a chance to change your mind, you're sadly mistaken!" And without further ado, Blair latched on to Jim's face and planted a big, wet, loving kiss right on the lips.

"Yes, I'll marry you, you big lug. I thought you'd never get with the program!"

"What?" As usual, despite his careful planning, he appeared to be leagues behind his younger partner. Now affianced partner. Heh.

Blair just grinned at him, and snuggled right into him as naturally as breathing. Which, Jim guessed, for them, it was. "Yes, yes, yes, yes! Now that's settled, what the fuck, Jim?"

Distracted by an armful of warm Blair, Jim only caught the last word. Fuck. Hmm. That was a real possibility for the future, wasn't it?

Ow! "Blair! Do you normally hit your intended like that?"

"No, because I've never had an intended so lummoxy as you."

"Lummoxy? Is that even a word, Sandburg?"

"Jim, so help me god, if you don't unpack that scheming brain of yours, I will punish you."

Jim was suddenly assailed with thoughts of Blair punishing him, and the warmth and closeness of him, and the smell of him . . . Oh god--he was going to have to sit up just a bit if he wanted to have a conversation. Jim placed his hands on Blair's warm chest, pushing him away—but not too far. His fingers wanted to play against that warm acreage. He could feel the chest hairs crunching beneath Blair's shirt. He wrenched his attention back to the conversation.

"Okay, okay. Blair, when I realized why I was considering moving with you, I realized a bunch of stuff. Like how we are practically married, already."

"Practically." Blair smirked.

"Yeah, okay, practically. I mean, we've already been through our rough parts, and we're still together, stronger than we've ever been. And—you're right about the cupboard under the stairs bit." Looking over toward the French doors, then up to his bedroom, he said, very softly, "That's not where you belong at all."

Blair touched him on the arm. "Like you, Jim, I belong wherever you are. In whatever capacity you want me."

"No, that's not it. Don't you see?" Jim's voice was low, passionate; his eyes roamed over the smaller body reclining against the sofa. "You deserve a say, too. An equal say. I've been—squashing your life in a way that's not good for either of us."

"Squashing my life?" Blair laughed softly. "Oh, boy, when you think, you really come up with some doozies, don't you?"

"I'm serious, Blair. You life's been derailed since you met me—on a collision course—so many sharp turns I expect to see you lying on the side of the road in a rollover."

"Dude, can it with the mixed metaphors, and spit it out. Does this have to do with the getting married thing and the moving thing?"

"Yes. No. Shit!" Jim ran a hand over his face. "I got to thinking of being married to you, and how much I liked that idea, and our lives as cops, and how much I was tired of that."

Blair sat up abruptly. "You don't want to be a cop anymore?" He sounded shocked.

Jim sighed and stood up. He got themselves both another glass of wine, then leaned against the kitchen island. "It's not that. I think we're good cops. Great cops, in fact. Even before you became 'official' you had the instincts. And I appreciate all you've gone through to get where you are, with the dissertation, the lawsuits, the academy, and all of that."

"Then, what?"

Jim looked off into the distance, as he tried to form the words. "Well, is being a cop really the highest and best use of Sentinel and Guide? Is that what you and I want for the rest of our lives? I want to be married to you, Blair." Jim was earnest, serious. "Regardless of what the law says, I am not ashamed. And I'm a traditional kind of guy--I want to stand up before our friends and loved ones and declare our commitment to each other. But I don't want that to interfere with our lives as cops, and I think it would.

"If I have a chance at the kind of happiness this could lead to, I don't want us to be constantly in danger. I've lived my whole adult life in the line of fire. I've served my country, and my home. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of worrying about me, and you, and the things we could be missing." He sighed. "I suppose it sounds really hokey to say that we were meant for bigger things, too, but that's the way I feel."

"Oh. Well, okay then. What will we do?"

Jim looked at Blair. Blair was calmly accepting his decision that they would quit their jobs, with the implication that whatever Jim wanted to do with their lives, together, was fine with him. A sense of tenderness and pathos swelled up in Jim as he regarded the beautiful face of his Guide, alive with happiness.

"Well, I guess we're going house hunting, then, aren't we?"

Blair laughed. "Well, all right then!" He looked down at the box in his hands. Standing up, he walked toward Jim, his whole body coming to rest against him. The sensation was both shocking and familiar. Jim let his hands trail up and down Blair's arms.

Blair opened the box and felt his eyebrows climb as he saw the pendent within. It was a silver-colored medallion with the infinity symbol hanging from a handsome leather cord. "It's titanium, for eternity." said Jim, taking it from Blair. "May I?" Blair nodded, tilting his head forward. "I thought we could discuss rings, or bracelets, later, but I wanted to give you something tonight."

"It's beautiful." Blair fingered the pendent for a few moments, then looked up. "I will treasure it, as I treasure you."

Unable to resist, Jim let himself fall into Blair's mouth, tasting the sweetness there. Was this what love tasted like? It certainly tasted better than anything Jim had tasted before. The sensory impression of his Guide, here in his arms so willingly, was intense and fulfilling. Speaking of which . . . he pulled back a little. "Blair, I—"

Blair murmured very softly, into his neck. "Come on, Jim, you can say anything to me, you know it, right?"

Even so, Jim hoped Blair wasn't going to be upset at what he said next. He whispered back, "Blair, it's me, Jim, asking you to be my—husband, I guess. But it's also me, the Sentinel, asking you to be my Guide and Shaman. As much as I have struggled against this stuff for so long, it's real. Denying things like that has gotten me into trouble. No more. And I would be wrong if I didn't mention to you that it was part of this thing between us." Jim couldn't believe it; he was trembling. The shivers and the movement of the air against his erected fine hairs caused intense sensations of hot and cold to wash over him. Damn sense of touch!

"Shh, Shhh. I know Jim. You think I don't know? It's been there from the beginning between us, and it's only gotten stronger. We don't have to fight it anymore." The pair was silent for many moments, just hanging on to each other. "But we will have to talk about it."

"But do we have to right now? I vote we go back to the couch and make out."

"Oh, you do? You get a vote?"

"Oh hell, yeah, Chief. Equal partners, remember?"

"Well then, pardner--Race ya!"

It wasn't much of a race (being all of four whole feet to the couch) but the finish line was pretty fun. After several satisfying moments of handsy wrestling, both of them realizing they didn't have to be careful where their hands, or their lips, landed anymore, they subsided into contentment, each thinking over the various revelations exchanged.

"You know . . ." Blair began.

Uh oh. Jim knew that tone of old. It was the tone Blair used when he was about to spring something unpleasant on them.

"I don't know what kind of wedding you're thinking about Jim—"

Jim started to demur he was thinking of any such thing. Wedding? That was for Sandburg to plan. But as usual, Blair continued to talk and Jim was left behind.

". . . so no sex until then, don't you think?"

What? "What!"

"I just mean, Jim, that we can mark our changed status with sex. It's what married people do, after all, and you just said it's like we've been practically married anyway."

"What?" His mind was still caught on the "no sex." He hated it when he failed to follow Blair's arguments.

"Jim." Oops. Blair was using his "pay attention" voice. Jim just knew he wasn't going to like this. "Weddings are important rituals. They are about transitions. If we just started bonking away, there would no transition. We already live together and work together."

"No bonking?" Jim was disappointed.

"Not until the wedding night." Blair looked far too pleased with himself for this statement. "Just, you know--fooling around." Blair's eyebrows went up in that stupid cutesy move he made.

"Don't you think we're a little long in the tooth for fooling around, Chief?"

"Nope. Not at all. Especially since we are entering into the mysterious realm of gay sex, in which I, for one, am not an adept."

"Really? I thought you might . . ."

"No. You?"

"Uh, no. Thought about it. But never got the chance to really try it out."

"Well, see? It's just like when we were teenagers then. Trying to figure stuff out. This is going to be fun!" Blair was practically bouncing. He probably was planning research. And tests.

"Oh, brother."

***

Oh, shit. What was this? Jim eyed with trepidation the white board set up next to the table, along with Blair's laptop and some paper and pens. One of Sandburg's projects, apparently. Why couldn't they get back to cuddling some more? He and Blair had had some "fun" last night on the couch, eventually falling asleep bundled together. With silly grins on both their faces, no doubt, since Jim could barely keep one off his face now.

They had spent the morning snuggling and talking about new plans and dreams, barely moving from the couch. After they had reluctantly peeled themselves off each other and departed into necessary errands, Jim had been looking forward to another good meal with his, his—fiance—he could feel that silly grin again—and perhaps more cuddling. Definitely more cuddling!

Blair came out of his room. "Hey, m'dear. Bring the bacon home?"

"Sandburg. You don't eat bacon, remember? ' Pork products are indigestible.'" He mimicked his partner. "This is Chinese. Savvy?"

Blair laughed at the mishmash of cultural references. "Yeah, I savvy. Gotta love America, man," he said, taking the bags bulging with white, savory smelling, takeout cartons from the bigger man.

"So, in the immortal words of my personal Shaman: What the fuck?" Jim indicated the whiteboard.

"Oh, that's for brainstorming!" Blair made this statement as if it were self-evident, the kind of ritual Jim would recognize. Well, he did, but . . .

"Brainstorming." He hoped the flat tone would indicate his displeasure at this weirdness. Unfortunately, his mate seemed oblivious to this subtlety. Hmm. Blair could be damned subtle, therefore, Jim suspected deliberate obfuscation. Hah!

Grinning to himself at his own wit, Jim nevertheless succumbed to the inevitable, and allowed his Guide to set up dinner, and position him at the table in front of the whiteboard. Blair began to talk and gesticulate, alternating between using the whiteboard pens to mark on the board and the chopsticks to shove *moo goo gai pan* into his mouth at odd intervals.

"See, Jim, I thought we might want to do a little strategy session here. I mean, we are talking about a lot of changes. Like this." He proceeded to outline categories on the board, for all the world like Jim was his student.

"Okay, we've got the Wedding category." He marked that on the board. "And the House category. Those two are related, of course, since we've already determined that one precipitated the other."

Jim, who was vacillating between being insulted at Blair's patronizing tone, to fascinated at Blair's lecture style—the guy was just so darn cute—caved when he intercepted Blair's smoldering look, but offered a token protest anyway. "Is this really necessary, Chief? We could actually have a conversation, you know."

"Uh huh. Like you are such a skilled conversationalist about this stuff. No," he turned back to the board, "this way is better. We can at least identify the broad categories of stuff to have conversations about. Now, we also have the job-money-time categories, which for now I'm gonna lump into Lifestyle." He wrote this down.

"Wait a minute. Job, money, and time are less important than Wedding and House?"

"Not less important, just less urgent. I'm trying to prioritize here. And Wedding is definitely most important."

Smiling, Jim asked, "And why is that?"

There was that two-year old look again. "Because, Jim. No sex until the wedding, remember?"

Oh, yeah. Right. "Definitely first priority, Chief."

"I see we're on the same wavelength at last, Jim." Blair smiled. "First question, therefore, how soon can we accomplish this wedding? This obviously impacts the job question, too," he made a check mark in the Lifestyle column," since we have determined that we can no longer work at our current job after marriage."

After a moment, Jim offered, "And the House column, too. Do you want to start life as a couple in a new house? I mean," Jim faltered a bit, "I do sort of see your point about a new life in a new place, Blair. I lived with my wife here, and we've lived here, as a, a non-couple." Jim shrugged.

Squinting at the whiteboard, Blair said, "It's a question of timing. Whatever we decide on for a house—and we haven't even got there yet—it's unlikely a suitable place will fall in our laps quickly enough to move in on wedding day. No, our limiting factor is the job. How long will we need to extricate ourselves?"

Jim thought about the PD's policies. "Well, given our case load, we'll need to give a minimum of four weeks' notice to HR."

"Four weeks." Blair nodded. "Okay, so we could get married, say—five weeks after handing in our resignations."

"Okay." Five weeks! He'd go insane before then. Jim thought of another alarming thought. "We're going to have to tell Simon right away. Shit. He's gonna go ballistic."

"Yeah. And we'll have to tell him everything, too. But he's our friend—he can take it."

"He's not gonna be happy, Blair. Professionally, he'll be losing a huge asset to his department. Two huge assets."

"Hey! My ass is not huge!"

"No, but I bet it's tasty!"

The two men exchanged leers, before Blair continued. "Well, he's just going to have to be happy for us personally, then. But you're right. We will have to tell him when we hand our letters in."

Blair wrote "ltr + 5 wks" under Wedding. "Next, I guess, has to do with how soon we can find a place for the wedding, the officiant, all that. We have to talk about what we want."

"I'm leaving that to you, Chief. Ritual and ceremony—isn't that your bailiwick?"

"Yes, it is, Jim, but this isn't a research assignment. This is a wedding. Our wedding."

"All the more reason for you to design what you want."

"Jim, what was all that about being an equal partner? Don't you want to be involved, too?"

"Sure, but—" Jim wasn't sure how to say it. "I trust your instincts. How 'bout you plan the ceremony, and I'll take care of the honeymoon?"

"Didn't Carolyn involve you in the wedding planning before?"

"Chief, I don't care if you want purple and green for our colors, or if you want shrimp crackers. I just want the ceremony to mean something to you and me. Hell, it's not as if it'll be legal, anyway."

Blair nodded, "And that's something else we have to talk about. Should we call it a 'wedding' and speak of getting 'married' even though that isn't currently allowed by law? As law enforcement officers, you know."

Jim groaned. Why was this so complicated? "Well, we won't be law enforcement officers when we get married, will we? But I get your point."

"Maybe it would help if you would tell me what's in your thoughts when you think of marrying me. I mean, it's obviously important to you to present ourselves in this traditional way, right? Why?"

"I told you. Regardless of what the law says, to me, to stand up publicly and exchange vows—that's a wedding. We make promises to each other. It, I dunno—makes this complete. There have been so many rumors and stories about us. I want to make a statement."

Blair nodded, encouraging. "Okay, that's great, Jim. What kind of statement?"

Jim paused to collect his thoughts. He looked at the whiteboard, with Blair's crazy brainstorming categories. "I just want to tell the world that you're mine. That we belong together. That we were *meant* to belong together, whatever people believe. And that I am never letting you go. Make it official, you know? Or at least as official as it can be." Jim was a bit red in the face, but very serious. "It took us too long to get where we are now, and I'm not giving it up for anyone's preconceived notions. We are what we are."

"And what are we?"

"We're Jim and Blair." Jim added, low-voiced: "Sentinel and Guide."

After a beat, Blair said, "You know that's pretty hokey, don't you, big guy?"

Jim eyed the hyperactive love of his life, as he waved chopsticks and colored markers around. "You're enjoying this!"

Blair laughed. "Of course! It's not every day that a girl gets to plan her wedding!"

"You're not a bride, Sandburg!" Jim glared, but he was amused.

"Actually, there is a long tradition in many cultures of shamans being gender-reversed. So, in a way, I am the bride."

"No brides."

Blair played at pouting, but conceded the point. "Okay, no brides. Well, let's see: public declaration, exchange of promises, okay. Our close friends and loved ones, right? I can work with that. We'll have to come up with a guest list, ASAP, in order to figure out venue and budget." Blair hummed along to himself, making notes on the board. "Hmm. Some of our friends, well. . . ." He stopped for a moment. "Guess we'll find out exactly who our friends are, with this."

"Probably. But if they have a problem with us—screw it. We'll find new friends."

Blair spared him a doubtful glance at his, but moved on. "One thing we should discuss is our, well, religion."

"What? What religion?" Jim was put out. Why did they have to talk about religion? Jim hadn't been to church for other than weddings and funerals since he was a preteen.

"Well, I mean," and Blair was apparently serious about this shit, because he was pulling up a chair, "we belong to a kind of special religion, don't we?"

"Uh. We do?"

Big sigh from Blair. "Yes, Jim, we do. Spirit guides, vision quests, shamans alive, dead, and in between. Ring any bells?"

"Yeah, sure, but so? I mean, is that really a religion?"

"Well, leaving aside the definitions of religion, because we'd still be discussing this until daybreak, it's what we believe, isn't it? There's no denying that our spiritual beliefs have changed through direct experience of the spirit plane. Even you can't deny it, Jim, as much as you might want to. In a way, it's a religion of two."

Jim shook his head, although he knew Blair was right--denial had gotten him nowhere good in his life. He said, rather plaintively, "Does this have to do with our wedding ceremony, Blair?"

"Of course it does! I mean, we can't just hire a protestant minister to read the Book of Common Prayer over us. A non-practicing Jew and a lapsed Catholic? Who believe in spirits?"

"Okay, okay; I see your point. What do you want to do about it?"

"Well, I've got some ideas. I just wanted to point out that our ceremony will have to reflect our spiritual beliefs. It is, after all, a joining of a Sentinel and his Guide, as you specifically pointed out. Okay!" Apparently feeling all was settled, Blair bounced up and brandished his whiteboard pen again. "I think I got what I need for now about the wedding—"

He had? Jim was still confused.

"—and we have a plan, at least for now, for the job. We'll tell Simon at the same time we submit our resignations, and plan to have the wedding as soon after that as we can."

Well, that worked out well. Were they done? Jim wondered if it was time for more cuddling. No, Blair was still talking.

"The house? Well, we agreed to look at different types of houses for comparison purposes—"

They had? Jim didn't remember agreeing to any such thing. Maybe during the cuddling? It was all right, of course. Whatever Blair wanted. Jim's thoughts drifted back to the couch, remembering the feel of Blair's solid, warm body against his . . .

". . . will be doing after resigning."

Oops. Blair was looking at him expectantly and pointing at the Lifestyles column again. "Uh, sure."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Jim, I'm just saying that we should think about traveling, or a sabbatical."

Jim re-focused his wandering thoughts. "You want to travel?" Travelling with Blair. For fun. Suddenly, the idea was compelling. "That would be—fun, probably. But I thought we were going to get our private investigators' licenses and do some consulting? I know you've been doing some writing based on your police subculture diss—couldn't you get more into that?"

"Oh, that too, definitely. And that's a good point, because as we're wrapping up our cases, we don't want to burn any bridges." Blair started doodling something on the board, which Jim guessed was a burning bridge. At least, flames were coming out the top. "We want to be sure to strengthen connections in law enforcement over the next few weeks so we can get some good referrals when we do go into business. Hmm." And Blair stared at the board unseeingly for a few moments.

Jim waited patiently while his Guide created the blueprint for the rest of their lives. Eventually, Jim knew, Blair would get around to sharing it with him. Speaking of sharing . . .

"Blair," Jim said tentatively, "maybe we can use the sabbatical time to explore ways in which we can reach out to other potential Sentinels. We know there have to be others. Maybe we are the only functioning Sentinel and Guide team in the Western world, maybe we're not. But surely our experience could be of benefit to others, don't you think?"

The look Blair gave him was devastating. Admiring, adoring; Jim felt his face prickle from the intensity of that look. In an instant, his vision was locked onto—the warp and weft of cotton? Oh, Blair was straddling him, and his chest was, yeah, right there. Jim let his hands travel up the sturdy back of his companion, barely listening to Blair's litany of, "Oh, Jim, I love you, I love you, you are so smart, my very own Sentinel . . ."

Blair was babbling. Nothing new, of course, but he usually wasn't so close! Jim happily gave up the mental brainstorming, in order to concentrate on the purely physical. In fact, bodystorming sounded like a pretty accurate description of the way their bodies reacted to each other. Oh god, Blair smelled so good! He couldn't wait to taste and smell all of him. Five weeks was a hell of a long time for a Sentinel in love.

***

Stakeouts were much more pleasant these days, Jim mused, now that he had the advantage of cuddling with his partner. Even on this cold, overcast afternoon, he and Blair were toasty warm in the cab of his truck.

They were parked three blocks away from a coffeehouse in which they expected a suspect in a car jacking ring to frequent. Jim was monitoring the location with his sight and hearing, and Blair was leaning with his back to him, working on his laptop. His partner's active mind kept him multi-tasking. Working as a police officer, Guide to his Sentinel, teacher, and perpetual student—Jim could only aspire to match his energy. Peeking over his shoulder, Jim could see that he was monitoring his online anthropology students' progress, and doing a little bit of wedding planning. They even had a wedding website, to Jim's bemusement.

Their timeline had begun to run last week. They had handed in their letters of resignation, sealed, late Friday afternoon to the Human Resources Department, then took their boss out for a drink. That was their first big hurdle—and Simon took it about as well as they expected. After his initial astonishment and blustering, he settled down and admitted that he expected something like this to happen one day. Not necessarily the wedding thing—both Jim and Blair had been amused at Simon's surprise at that—but the moving on thing.

As Simon had put it, "I wouldn't say your talents are wasted at MC, and I've been glad to have you, but I knew I couldn't keep you all to myself forever. And that someday working for the City wouldn't be enough for you." To their astonishment, he added, "You've only gotten better since Sandburg became a real cop. Scary better, and you've attracted notice. I've had to fend off the Feds, the state troopers, and others asking for the loan of your services. I guess if you are going to go solo, you'll have enough contacts and reputation to do it."

For now, they were trying to keep things quiet. That wouldn't last long at work, Jim knew, as they would have to begin wrapping up and parceling out their case load soon. This would give him and Blair the opportunity to talk individually with each of their teammates, in order to spring the "we're going to have a gay wedding" thing on them gently. And privately, in case anyone freaked out. Speaking of which . . .

"Hey Chief. Did you get a hold of that guy?"

"What guy, Jim?" Blair appeared to be looking across the street at an empty building and didn't turn around.

"That native American shaman guy. You know, for the ceremony." They had decided not to refer to their wedding as a "wedding" in order to avoid any political overtones, so they were calling it a commitment ritual or ceremony. He'd heard enough lectures from Sandburg on ritual to teach a course in it himself, so it seemed fitting terminology for them anyway.

This time, Blair did turn around. His eyes were large and blue beneath the knit cap he wore, and Jim was caught, as always, by their luster. "Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that. We have an appointment with Dr. Arthur on Saturday. We'll have to drive over to Rockhampton, but he wants to talk to his together before he agrees to perform the ceremony."

Saturday. Okay. A thought occurred to him. "So, do you guys have a secret handshake or something? Will he care that you're a Shaman?"

Blair gave him a pitying look. "What, you think he's going to take one look at me and think I'm a high-powered Shaman muckity muck? Come on, it's not like that. Just because of . . . " he sighed, "what happened with Incacha, and, and the drowning, and the fact we joke around calling me Shaman, doesn't mean . . . "

"Can the obfuscation, Chief. It doesn't work with me anymore. You know it's more than that, and you know I know. I thought we weren't going to hide anything between us anymore. You have to face it."

"Jim, I—"

But Jim interrupted, knowing Blair sometimes needed a push. "What do you fear?"

Blair returned him a solemn look, then suddenly smiled brightly. "Nothing. When I'm with you." It's possible that Blair was simply trying to distract him, but Jim allowed it for now, simply pulling Blair close to him again and returning his gaze to his target.

Blair's gaze returned across the street, and after a while he said, "Jim? Look at that place across the street, will you?"

Across the street? Keeping his hearing focused on the coffee shop, Jim complied. All he saw were the same kind of older commercial buildings as the rest of the surrounding blocks. Specifically, that side of the block had a flower shop on one end, open for business and advertising a special on a dozen roses, and a closed brick storefront.

"I'm looking, buddy. Even with my sight, I can't tell what I'm looking at without you explaining it to me." He squeezed his arm around Blair tighter, just because he could.

"What do you think about that place?" Blair pointed at the empty building.

Jim was confused. "The empty store? What about it?"

"Well, I mean, for our house."

Blair started to vibrate in place, almost a contained bounce in his seat, but Jim was dubious. They had tossed around various options for new housing: a suburban or ranch-type house farther out of the city center, a townhouse, building their own place from scratch, even vacation housing had been discussed, but they hadn't made any kind of firm decisions yet. They liked being in town, but their options for a house and yard there were limited. And besides, they were concentrating getting the wedding put together. First priority!

Jim couldn't see what his partner was getting so excited about. This neighborhood was a fairly old industrial area, with a mix of retail, commercial, and professional offices. True, it showed signs of recent improvement; there was the coffeehouse after all, and the thriving florist, and one block over there was a building which had been converted into upscale condos. Jim studied the building Blair had pointed out. Sure enough, there was a For Sale sign and the name of a real estate agent on the storefront, which contained merely a door and a couple of nondescript windows. The property apparently shared one wall with the florist, but took up the entire rest of the block. There was a large rusted metal gate at the corner, spanning a driveway or garage of some type.

"I'm just saying, we could at look at it. Think outside the box, you know? We like being close in, and if we found the right type of property, we could remodel. And this neighborhood looks like it's on the way up. Something like this could be an investment."

"Yeah, but wouldn't the zoning regs be a problem? It's zoned commercial down here."

"Well, we would have to see. Maybe we could get a variance, or something. We'd have to see if it's suitable first. Why don't you see what you can find out with your senses, and I'll look online."

And so the very next day, the found themselves escorted onto the property by a real estate agent, a heavily made-up and coiffed older lady who eyed the pair with speculation. Nevertheless, she appeared quite competent as she answered their questions.

"Well, it's certainly large enough," Jim commented, as they stood looking around.

It turns out the place used to be a dairy office and distribution point, back when milk was still delivered daily. The entire property took up three-quarters of the block, and was encompassed by a high brick wall. On one side of the property was a large open courtyard, used for parking and turning the delivery trucks around. There was an art-deco steel canopy in the far right corner, where the trucks had been loaded and worked on. A rather rickety shop structure clung to the back wall. From the street, the front door opened up into a smallish reception area, which according to the agent used to be a store front, selling milk, gallons of ice cream, and other dairy products to the public. This anteroom opened up into a large, two story building which housed the offices of the dairy. The second floor was loft-like, open to the rest of the building. Jim could just picture the managers looking down on the worker bees below.

Already his mind was evaluating the space, figuring out what would need to be done. "Chief, this is going to be expensive to remodel, don't you think?"

"Well, it might take a bit, but yeah, we've got the money, don't we? We can keep the slightly industrial look, but just update it. We can use green building materials for, uh--" he darted at look at the lady, "your allergies. And we can do a lot of the work ourselves. Come on, Jim. It's like the loft, only bigger!" he enthused. "We can open it up; make it a real urban homestead. We could have an atrium entry where the storefront was, there's space for a little greenhouse, and space for an office, and a gym . . ."

Jim shared a look with the real estate agent, amused, as Blair started to walk around, gesticulating and talking all the while. It looked like things were coming together.

Blair had found a wonderful site for the ritual, at an upscale "camp" operated by one of the nicest resort hotels in the mountains, about three hours out of Cascade. It was like a fancy hotel outdoors, with well-appointed tent cabins sprinkled next to the banks of a beautiful, placid stream, complete with its own swimming hole. It was the perfect place for a non-traditional wedding. Normally booked months in advance by large companies or family reunions, they had lucked out when the resort had a cancellation. Jim privately thought that was a little more evidence of the spirits smoothing the path for Sentinel and Guide, but he didn't mention that to Blair. Kid had a swell head as it was.

He mentally thanked Blair for his organizational skills. Now he and Blair had a date, place, and a definite direction for the wedding; and also, apparently, a piece of property to make into a home. Jim was frankly looking forward to the rest of his life with his delectable Guide, and he was pleased their plans were marching right along.

There was the little matter of no sex until marriage, for one thing. Jim could do research, too, and they were having a lot of fun getting used to each other, teasing and touching in preparation for the main event. In fact, it was getting to be pure torture. It was definitely time to get this show on the road!


	2. The Guestbook

_". . . we can't just hire a protestant minister to read the Book of Common Prayer over us. A non-practicing Jew and a lapsed Catholic? Who believe in spirits?"_

On a bright spring afternoon, Brian Rafe looked over at the beautiful woman sitting in the aisle seat of the small hotel shuttle bus, and his eyes warmed. Courtney was an architect from California. Elegant and sexy in an understated way, she looked relaxed in her casual outdoors outfit, full of curiosity about and plans for the wedding. There was also a group of faculty from the community college who were Sandburg's friends, and they were getting rowdy, clearly ready for a party. Brian wasn't a big outdoor fan himself, but Blair assured him the cabins were really nice. It looked like it was going to be an *interesting* weekend, to say the least. He wondered what he should pick for the honeymoon pool H was organizing. Was Mexico nice this time of year? Maybe Hawaii?

He couldn't believe it when they told him they were quitting; and still didn't know what to think about the whole Jim and Blair shacking-up-for-good thing. This "ritual of celebration" as the invitations said, sounded exactly like something Sandburg would think up, though.

But, hey, he owed the guys many times over, and he really liked Courtney, who had surprised him when she agreed to go with him to an unconventional wedding as his "and guest." It didn't hurt that her father was a bigwig police commissioner in California, either. Hell, if Jim and Blair could find The One, why couldn't he?

***

At the beautiful resort hotel that was "main base," Henri Brown was a man on a mission. It was his duty, on Blair's behalf, to greet and organize the guests as they checked in with the hotel, and get them oriented for the trip out to the camp. Hairboy had explained it to him. "You're the warrior chief of the Wolf Village. Naomi is the Headwoman of the village, and together, you guard the Guide—that's me."

Sandburg had these elaborate stories about the kinship ties and how men would steal brides from other villages ("Not that I'm a bride," he'd said, with a wink), and about the importance of ritual separation, yadda yadda. Basically, Henri was a member of the wedding party, along with Naomi, and he was Blair's team captain. The Captain and Jim's brother, Steve, were the counterparts at the Panther Village; the Headman and Chief Warrior, who back up the Sentinel. Henri wasn't sure of the wisdom of bringing the Sentinel stuff into it—regardless of what Jim and Blair said publicly, Henri was no fool--but it sure looked like it was going to be a pretty interesting party.

It was also the wedding party's job to discourage the media. The hotel had set up extra security, but he'd already seen Naomi eject one aspiring reporter. He shuddered. What *was* it about that woman?

The hotel was really first class, and they were going all out for Jim and Blair. Or maybe it was that Jim and Blair that were going all out. Each guest got a "goodie" tote bag with a Frisbee, a team sweatshirt, a water gun, natural bug repellent, bottle water, biodegradable wipes, a map of the camp, the activities, and assorted other souvenirs. Henri knew for sure that there were more to come. He had overheard talk about the flowers and other stuff.

He and Steve were sitting by a table in a lounge area, which was conveniently next to the hotel bar. There was a sign that said, "Sandburg-Ellison Celebration" with a picture of a wolf and a panther on it. Henry spared a thought to how Sandburg always managed to get first billing in that relationship. He grinned.

It was Saturday afternoon and the wedding weekend was getting off to a good start. Two shuttles from Cascade were arriving that afternoon, although some people were choosing to drive in on their own. They greeted and sorted the parties of people into their "villages" as they checked in and gave out sleeping assignments. There were a limited number of very nice and well-appointed tent cabins, and a more generous number of campsites, RV spaces, and covered sleeping sites. Most of the good friends and close family made every effort to be here tonight, as well as people wanting to make a weekend of it. Many more were showing up tomorrow morning for the ceremony itself. Those people would be shuttled directly to the camp site when they arrived, about 20 minutes of rough road away.

There was a lot of excited chatter about the activities planned, which got louder as drinks were served. The webpage had the ceremony details, directions, and the schedule, and people were curious. Were there really going to be dancers and a drum circle? Could they switch teams? (Henri always hid a snicker at that one, considering the occasion). Did they serve breakfast? He checked the schedule again. Right now, the Captain and Ms. Sandburg were greeting guests at the camp and getting them situated. He bet some people were already suiting up and getting into that pond. There was a rope swing. Henry had plans for that swing.

He slanted his eyes to where Steven was talking with a bunch of well-dressed preppy types on his team. Friends of his and Jim's family, it looked like. He just knew they were up to something. It was part of his job, Blair had explained, to keep Jim and Blair apart before the ceremony, and he figured the Sentinel's team would try to steal the Guide away, or at least run interference for Jim. Feel free to improvise, Blair had said, but nothing mean or harmful. He didn't want a lot of upset wedding guests. Still, Henri had a few ideas.

"Hey, Steven. You're not planning any thing over there, I hope?" He laughed as the group overtly conspired, and people sat around waiting for their transportation. He pointed out the sign-up sheet for the honeymoon pool to several people.

Jim told him that they tried to keep the guest list fairly small, but that people, the mayor included, accosted them wherever they went to congratulate them and cadge invitations to the "non-wedding." Henri laughed to himself as he thought of Jim. Mr. "I'm-the-Original-Hardass" had been walking around as dazed as if he'd been hit with a 2x4; and Hairboy was as hyper as he'd ever seen him, which was saying a lot. He hoped Jim was going to tackle him and sit on him soon. This time, Henri couldn't keep the smirk off his face. Ooh, boy, were they in for a lot of teasing, now that they were off the clock. He hoped his relief got here soon so he could join the party.

Henri spotted a gaggle of young university types. Sandburg's friends, this time. He guessed they were also the entertainment, because they were all toting instruments. The women wore jingly chain belts and bells, and there was a pronounced odor of patchouli and worse about them. Dreads and beads, oh boy; Jimbo was gonna love them. All of these people were going into the "Gypsy Camp" and were supposed to be neutral, but maybe they could be influenced. He saw Steven heading this way. Uh oh. He better get back to work.

***

Sheila, the wedding planner, was well pleased. A complicated wedding, oh, excuse me, she said to herself –celebration ritual—she smirked—to put together on short notice. Not that she had a problem with gay people, no matter what her pastor said. They usually had great taste and could pay well.

Well, most of them did. This bunch--body paint, stuffed animals, and belly dancers! She shook her head. Well, it certainly would be interesting. And the men involved were not like any gay men she'd known. But they were a couple, no doubt about it. For all their differences, they presented together as one person almost, which was very—intense.

She wasn't sure about all that anthropological stuff the shorter one was talking about, but she was used to rolling with demands made by brides and grooms. And at least these two looked happy. A lot of the brides and grooms, or whatever, were surprisingly unhappy on The Big Day, and any little detail out of whack could instantly unbalance them into a serious tantrum. It was part of her job to hold the bride and groom's hands (or *whatever* she insisted to herself), but these two guys had things well in hand.

In fact, she got the impression from the big guy that the less she focused on, talked with, or god forbid, touched the little one, the better.

Unlike many of the events she coordinated, a full schedule had already been planned by the principals, and all she had to do was set up the area and manage the food. The idea of the two "villages" competing against each other was working surprisingly well. The symbolism of the villages uniting into one people, just as the two men were uniting, was simple and moving. She would have to bring this up at her next professional planners meeting. Already, she could see how the competition was adding extra excitement, especially for the men. She guessed that was to be expected when there were two men marrying. Committing!

***

Rhonda anxiously dug out her invitation and the schedule Steven had given them. Because she helped Simon, Jim's best man, or Headman (where did Blair come up with these names?) she was privy to a lot of the wedding details. She hoped she didn't forget anything. In the back of her husband's truck were a lot of the special items wanted by Jim and Blair. There were special-ordered wedding favors: Adorable jaguar and wolf stuffed animals, with tags that said J+B on them. There were musical instruments, bells, and rattles and other noisemakers. There were also tribal beads and necklaces by the pound. There was face paint, special ordered from California. It came by overnight express just this morning, and she was panicked that it wasn't going to come in time. Apparently it was the only kind that Jim could use. Waiting for the courier had put them running late. Why they insisted on face paint at a wedding was beyond her, but it was on her list.

She yawned and rubbed at her neck, and looked over at her husband fondly. He had been pretty philosophical about the whole thing. Free food and drink, he said, what's wrong with that? At least her two young sons were asleep in the rear cab. They had a long day ahead of them. Did she bring the right clothes for everyone? What does one wear to a gay wedding in the woods? And just what the heck was the "celebratory attire" suggested by the invitation, anyway?

She hoped their wedding gift was okay. It just didn't seem like pillowcases were enough, but it was one of the registered items, and she couldn't afford much. She checked her pocket for the envelope that Jim had given her. She had been instructed to guard it with her life and to Tell No One! She guessed it contained their airline tickets and passports. Well, no one was going to find out from her.

Jim and Blair did look happy together, she had to admit. Rhonda thought back over all the things the two men had been through, starting with Blair's very first day at the station. They deserved all the happiness they could get. Yep, it was going to be a hell of a party, but things could still go wrong. It was up to her to help Simon run this show. She sat up in her seat, and pulled out her cell phone to contact the wedding planner.

***

Steven was dressed in shorts, sandals, and not much else. His suits and cell phones were far away. Or at least, in his "tent." He was wet, tired, mud-splattered, and so hungry he could eat a horse. His chest heaved from running, and his cheeks hurt from laughing. He was having the most fun he could ever remember.

Oops! There went Jim again. He raced after his brother around the pond, carefully aware of slippery rocks. Jim snagged the rope swing and made a mighty yell, splashing the group on the rocks who had Blair sequestered. Henri Brown sang out raunchy taunts to Jim and other the Panthers, coached by Blair. All the Wolves had supersoakers which they used to defend their charge.

Blair lounged against the rocks. He had flowers in his hair, and elaborate leis and necklaces. His face, chest, and back were painted, and a lot of the Wolves also sported body paint and beads. Jim, on the other hand, was painted up like in soldier's camo, and he wore an old army shirt and a bandana on his head. Some kind of "thing" between them. Steven didn't want to know about any role playing!

He remembered with embarrassment the conversation he had with his brother, in which he explained that no, he hadn't been gay his whole life, and neither had Sandburg, but it was just the way it was between them. And that they were waiting until the wedding night. Jesus Christ! Can you say TMI? He tried to ignore the steamy looks the two sent each other.

He had to admit he had his doubts about the whole scenario, too, from the "male life-partner" to letting Sandburg plan the ceremony. Especially when he twigged to the references to the Sentinel thing, which in his opinion shouldn't be bandied about. But it was pretty fun being the Chief Warrior of the Panthers; and just look at how *happy* his brother was.

Jim was currently swimming back and forth along the pond's edge, looking for an opening to get to Blair, who was sunning himself, ostentatiously unconcerned. Jim feinted and mock-growled at the Wolf team defenders, egged on by his villagers on the other side of the pond, but his face was shining. The look in his eyes . . . Steven had never seen that look on his brother's face before, that look of joy. Maybe on Christmas morning when they were very young. And anything—or anyone—that could make Jim look that way was all right in his book. It was too bad Dad died before he could see Jim like this.

Steven laughed as Jim pushed his way through. The defenders really didn't try too hard to keep him away. After all, would be bad luck to injure the husband-to-be on the day before the wedding. Either of them. Jim and Blair put on a blatant display of horseplay, tussling and necking passionately, hamming it up for the crowd until their teams managed to pull them apart. Okay, ick.

Steven gestured to a likely-looking teammate, and began to plan his tactics for later.

***

Thirteen year old Todd Hanson licked the barbeque sauce off his fingers and wiped the rest off on his shorts. This wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be. It was his weekend to be with his Dad, and at first he resisted being bundled into the car for a wedding. Weddings were boring. But Dad explained about the two guys he worked with at the police department, and how it was going to be camping, and really fun, honest!

He was getting a little colder, so he pulled on the sweatshirt that was given out to his team. His was brown with a silver wolf silhouette. The others were green with a black panther. Maybe Dad was right. He'd had fun at the river, battling it out with water guns with a young black guy on the other team. And the food was fantastic—there was salad, grilled veggies, corn pudding casserole, hamburgers, wings, baked potatoes, and there was pie! He started walking toward the "mess tent," a big wooden structure adjacent to the hotel's permanent building there, which housed the kitchen, storage, and the bathrooms for the campsite.

Dad was happily occupied with a bunch of guys he knew, which meant leaving him alone—extra good. And a whole group of older kids were setting up some kind of drum circle. All right!

He thought of the two guys, Jim and Blair, and how they were together. They weren't flaming or girly, they were just ordinary guys, obviously in love. And people accepted them. Look at all the people here already, and the wedding wasn't even until tomorrow. Todd started to look toward the future with a little more hope. He already knew what gender he was attracted to. Maybe Dad wouldn't freak out too much after all.

***

Wow, this is the life, the young man thought. The stars shining above, the fire crackling, the smell of pine and fresh air. The pulse of drums, recently silenced, reverberated through his blood.

Darryl Banks pulled his jacket more securely around his shoulders. It was chilly, which he hadn't noticed earlier while he was dancing, so he edged closer to the fire pit. The two Villages each had their own bonfire, yards apart but close enough for interaction. Blair had passed around sacks with bells and sticks, and encouraged everyone to dance and join in with the drums. The two groups, Wolves and Panthers, tried to out dance each other. There was even a group of Polynesian-style dancers, who taught the teams a haka challenge dance like they did before rugby games, and danced poi. Darryl had never even heard of the Maori before this. He'd have to look them up before Blair asked him about it.

Jim and Blair danced with each other at the end, their bodies swirling like ballet dancers or stomping like primitive man, pivoting around each other in perfect awareness, their bodies not touching at all, not breaking the taboo. That dance! Darryl tried to describe it. Like warriors challenging each other? Like artists pantomiming a story? Like primitive man capering by the fire? Like sex? Maybe once he had some, he'd find out. Whatever, it certainly was—interesting. He shifted around on the ground.

Now all he heard were the sounds of the fire crackling and the Guide—that was Blair—shaking his single rattle as he told a story. It was about a young wolf who wandered the forest, searching for something. Darryl was sure Blair had some deep meaning to impart, but he just let the sound wash over him. His shin hurt from where he scraped it against some rocks in the stream, and he was tired from all the running around and swimming earlier, but he also felt full and happy. The light beer he held in his hand contributed to his contentment, as did the excellent meal and the company.

He was sitting with a bunch of people from Rainier. They told him Blair was a legend there, a hero for fighting the administration. Blair continued to teach classes and tutor whenever he could, and a bunch of these people were taking for-credit classes taught by him offered through the Internet. Blair had a following of social science and humanities students, and several "Sandburg Lives!" shirts were proudly worn tonight.

Maybe he shouldn't have left Cascade. There were some pretty cool people here. He had wanted the independence that going away to college provided, but he found himself thinking about transferring back home lately. To put it bluntly, he was homesick. He wished his best friend back at college had come with him so Darryl could show off his home town. But his friend had just curled his lip with disgust and said, "Hell no, I'm not going to any fag wedding. Forget it."

And okay, maybe it was weird that Jim and Blair were getting married—to each other—but, somehow . . . it didn't seem weird for them. And they sure looked happy. Darryl thought about that for a while. Maybe his friend wasn't as cool as Darryl had first thought.

He smiled at the girl next to him, wondering if her piercings hurt when she wore them, and if they got in the way of . . . things. She was one of the belly dancers who performed. Whooee, these girls could move and do some damn incredible things. She was a student at Rainier, and--she was smiling back. Darryl had a space in the Guide's cabin for tonight, but maybe he oughta get his sleeping bag and camp out on the covered platform that was the gypsys' post. He scooted closer to her.

***

INTERLUDE NO. 1: Jim

Jim's eyes opened half an hour before dawn. It was the exact same moment that the alarm on Blair's watch went off, on the other side of the campsite. For a split second, he floated in the awareness that something good was happening today. Then he remembered what it was.

Despite a fairly wild party and a late night, he felt great. He and Blair would have plenty of time to sleep later, preferably cocooned in the new bed he bought for them, which was installed in the loft yesterday. They were going to have their own little ritual to break in the bed, before they headed out on their honeymoon. With that cheering thought, he roused himself into the cold of the admittedly luxurious cabin and prepared to go into the chilly morning of his wedding day.

Blair would have preferred an all-night vigil followed by a dawn ceremony, but since they had to wait for day guests to arrive from Cascade, the actual ceremony wasn't until 11. They compromised with a dawn awakening: each of them were to seek out solitude to meditate and prepare for the ritual. Blair insisted that there had to be spiritual "cleansing" followed by actual cleansing and "ritual adornment."

Jim shook his head. Only Sandburg; but Sandburg was the choreographer of this show and, if Jim were honest, the master of ceremonies for their lives, so Jim bundled up against the cold spring morning, and quietly stole up the hill to a lookout spot he had chosen. He automatically scanned the dim vegetation as he climbed for critters, crap, or other pitfalls.

He shivered a little at the summit, and the Sentinel became concerned for his cold-blooded Guide. However, a quick check using his unerring sense of his Guide's location told him that Blair was already sitting by the bonfire, stirring the banked coals for warmth in preparation for his own meditation.

Jim found a likely boulder, and sat down. He took a swig of water from the bottle in his pack, then sent his senses over the camp. He concentrated, and riffled through his senses almost simultaneously, seeking any jarring sensory perception which would alert him to trouble. Taste and smell, as well as touch, were acknowledged; the sensations of an awakening forest were cataloged. Sight and hearing, his two most powerful senses, were dialed up for a scan. Jim knew that such fine control was only possible because of the man he was about to join his life to.

Most of the near seventy-five people in the campsite were still asleep, with the exception of some of the hotel staff, who were working on the food and grounds, and a few people who were engaged in sleepy morning sex. Jim's senses told him early on that a lot of people routinely engaged in what Blair called, "birdsong at morning." Jim realized he was likely to get some of that himself after today; a lot of it, maybe, though Blair was not much of a morning person. Jim would just have to be persuasive. He smiled in anticipation, noting that his cheeks were still sore from smiling all day yesterday. He was ready to get this circus over with, and enjoy the honeymoon.

It was fully dawn now, and Jim faced east, admiring the beautiful sight of those rosy fingers creep over the tops of the hills. Used to waking early, he relished his time alone in the morning. He often sat on the balcony in good weather with his coffee, enjoying the light play and colors of the sunrise, the silence and the stirrings of the day, but this morning was special. Blair knew this was his favorite time of day and he blessed his partner for allowing him this time to collect his thoughts and prepare for what was ahead.

He spared a thought for his father, and wondered if his spirit was out there watching. Though his Dad had succumbed to pneumonia the year before, Jim couldn't help thinking about him, and what he would think about this whole thing. He probably wouldn't like what they were doing, but Jim could see him rising to the task of village chieftain quite easily. He sighed, and shifted on the rock.

If Jim concentrated, he could hear Blair, sitting by the remains of the Wolf Village fire. He could also see him quite clearly from this vantage, arrowing his sight through the foliage. Jim grounded himself by focusing his senses of sight and hearing on his Guide, and began to breathe deeply, as Blair had instructed him practically from the first. He had further instructions: To greet the dawn; to connect with the earth, the elements, and the spirits, and ask their blessings for and guidance on their marriage; to contemplate his new relationship with Blair and their future.

He pulled out the slip of paper with the invocation Blair had written down. Jim sighed again. The things he did for his Guide.

***

INTERLUDE NO. 2: Blair

Okay. Breathe in hold one two three four; breath out one two three four five six seven. Breathe IN hold one two three four; breathe OUT hold one two. . . I'm usually better at this. Wonder if it's just wedding jitters. Brrr, it's cold. Did I stir the coals enough? Maybe I should add another log. Breathe in; breathe out. Breathe in; breathe out. That's it. Just clear your mind . . . Shit, how can I clear my mind? I'm getting married today! To Jim! God, I wish we could actually call it a wedding. But then again, how many times have unions between Sentinel and Guide been held? Breathe in; breathe out. Boy I'm tired. But I don't feel sleepy. I just feel kind light. Like I'm floating on a cloud of happiness.

My mind is clear. Useless thoughts are leaving my mind.

But Jim's up there. I can feel him. He's looking at me. He's supposed to be meditating. Bad boy. I'm supposed to be meditating. Bad me! No! Good me. It's all good today. It's gonna be so good with me and Jim . . .

Center, center. Don't think about Jim yet! Breathe in; breathe out. Breathe in; breathe out. Hold one two three . . .

I wonder if Naomi's up yet? Are we the only ones? Hope she remembers to take out my clothes and hang them up by the showers. Have all the flowers been delivered?

Breathe in; breathe out.

Ugh. There's a rock under my butt!

The air feels so clean and crisp up here. Jim said he could smell how fresh the water was, and that he could hear deer, and foxes, and beavers, and even bears. Hope there are no bears near. Jim would know.

Clear the mind! Expand your consciousness with your breath. The brain is only a shell.

I wonder what the beavers make of these noisy humans crashing around in the river? Boy, the birds are sure starting to sing. It's like the animals are like our guests too.

Blair's brain obligingly supplied him with an image of Cinderella and the little mice and birdies singing and making her gown. Cinderelly, Cinderelly, they sang.

Arggh! Focus!

Breathe in; breathe out. Breathe in; breathe out. Yeah, better. Send out my thoughts to those friends out there. To the wolf and the jaguar. To the universe. It was an invitation. (I'm getting married today! To Jim!)

Shussh! Thoughts, go away.

In. Out.

Joel. The older man's face appeared before Blair. Was Joel was going to make it to the ceremony? Blair hoped he would. He wished Joel would have been comfortable enough with Jim and Blair to be part of the wedding party. But his wife was being a bitch about it, and Joel was embarrassed and apologetic.

Why do stupid narrow-minded people care what two men do in the privacy of their bedroom? It was none of their business.

No negative thoughts! Not good for the soul to be angry on your wedding day.

Innnn . . . out . . . . . . . . . Okay.

He began the chant in Quechua that he and Jim worked out.

Creatures of the wood, The Guide comes to the Sentinel. Sentinel and Guide ask that you bear witness to our ceremony, that you add your presence and blessing to our ritual, and make our binding stronger. Bless our union. Spirits of the light, spirits of the Sentinels and Guides before us, bless our union. May the strength and love of our family and friends strengthen the ties that bind us together. Bless our union.

Bless our union . . . Breathe in; breathe out. Jim. Jim . . .

Hold . . . one . . . two . . . three . . . four; out one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five.

Breathe in; breathe out. The Guide comes to the Sentinel. Blair willed his energy and happiness around him, spreading out toward the sleeping guests, wanting to create a perfect sense of community for their ceremony.

. . .

Blair's mind finally slowed enough that the only thing remaining was Jim.

***

Meagan giggled as a freshly washed Blair streaked with only a towel from the outdoor shower to the safety of his cabin. She'd been officially deputized by Henri, their warrior chief, to assist in the "ritual cleansing and adornment ritual" as Blair put it. "Better run fast, Sandy, or Jim is gonna get you." The few early morning risers laughed and cheered. She jogged after Blair. The village headwoman, (Naomi, that is) followed at a more sedate pace, carrying a smudge stick of burning herbs of some kind. All Meagan knew is that it didn't contain sage. She hoped Jim wasn't sneezing over at his cabin.

Meagan hovered as Naomi fussed around Blair, giving him various pots of oils or lotions to try. Blair waived it all away, saying he had his own things—no doubt Sentinel approved--and dug in his luggage. Meagan eyed that towel-covered backside and thought what a lucky man Jim was. Of course, Blair was pretty lucky himself. Jim was good looking and had a body to die for. She had goggled at Blair when he whispered to her the night before, that he and Jim hadn't had sex; that they were waiting. Oh, boy, they must be going crazy by now.

Well, now she got a chance to make Blair pretty for his man. She giggled to herself again. Criminy, I'm not normally such a giggler. Must be the occasion.

Blair allowed himself to be attended by his mother, who looked charmingly mussed in a long gown and robe. It was still early, but Blair had first crack at the bathhouse. It was only fair, after all. It always takes longer for the bride to get ready. She sniggered, but put on a straight face when Blair glanced suspiciously at her. He was dressed now, in white boxers and undershirt, while he allowed Naomi to dress his hair with gel to bring the curls out and some kind of oil to make them smooth and glistening.

She sighed in aggravation. If only *her* hair looked like that, maybe she could snag a man as fine as Jim. Or Blair, either one.

Meagan laughed out loud now, as his mother put his hair into clips to dry, and began to apply makeup. A little clear gel for his eyebrows, lip balm, and a little bit of eyeliner. "Shut up, Connor. It's ritual body paint." Sandburg grumped, but his eyes laughed. He held his hands out for her to see. They were covered in reddish brown loops and whorls, stained by henna a few days ago.

Even she had noticed there was a bewildering mish-mash of cultural influences in this little farrago of Sandy's. Indian, Northwestern Native American, Middle Eastern, African, Celtic, South American, European. She asked Blair about it, but Blair just shrugged. "We're children of the universe, Meagan, and we want to invite all people to celebrate in their own way." They, typically, he launched into a cross-cultural comparison of wedding customs until her brain was stuffed.

He put on a gorgeous embroidered robe over his underwear. She was sure Blair could give her an entire lecture on the ethnic group that made it. Naomi carefully applied a swirl pattern in white paint on Blair's cheeks, and a dot on his forehead, where his third eye was. His eyes were bright against the black eyeliner, and his demeanor was calm and happy. She wondered what he had done to appear so serene, since he had worked himself into quite a tizzy over the wedding details. Right now, he looked a little exotic with the robe on and his body paint, a little funny because of the clips still in his hair, and a little scary in his beauty and intensity.

Meagan knew that today they would see what few people ever had the chance to see; a shaman Guide joined with his Sentinel. She had seen the two in action together too many times not to believe there was something more than just two buddies who happened to be cops. She paid careful attention over the years, and knew they were so much more than they pretended to be. The pretense would be stripped from them for this one weekend.

Blair's wedding clothes were hanging up, protected, waiting for donning just before the ceremony. He had long pants made of loose snowy white cotton, and a fine white tunic, delicately embroidered in white thread. Over that, he planned to wear a white silk vest, made in India and heavily embroidered with white, gold, and silver beads. He was going barefoot to the ceremony, and his feet had been hennaed, too.

Henri came in and said people were starting to hit the showers to get dressed and ready. She better get a move on. Her hair might not be as great as Sandy's, but she did all right with the proper preparation. She got out her camera and snatched a picture of Naomi kissing her son carefully on the forehead so as not to muss him. She also got Blair's expression when he realized she had a picture with those clips in his hair.

Blair was still getting the clips out as she exited, stage left.

***

Simon stood on the pathway outside the Sentinel's cabin, his mind trying to go over every detail. He was ready to lead his village to the ceremony site, if only his "village" would get on with it. Things had been slightly frantic in the camp, and they were making up for a late start, after the discovery that all the Wolf team's shoes had mysteriously landed in a pile in front of the mess hall. Simon disavowed all knowledge of such a dastardly prank, but cherished the memory of the late-night footwear raiding foray led by the Sentinel. He hadn't had so much fun in years.

He pounded the headman's drum which Sandburg had given him, and bellowed out, "Panther Village! It is time to assemble for the ceremony." He hoped Blair would forgive him for the corny lines.

Ah! There was Jim in a tailored white suit. He wore a silk shirt and white tie, as well as cuff links, braces, and dress shoes. Simon knew the details of the wedding attire had been negotiated rather fiercely between the two. He wondered what Blair was wearing. Jim looked amazing; happy and eager just as any man about to get married would. Simon, however, felt slightly ridiculous in his caftan, even though it was a beautiful garment. But Blair had insisted, and god knows they would all jump through tighter hoops than that for the guy. Jim told him to consider it Sandburg's version of an ugly bridesmaid's dress, but Simon admired the rich black and burgundy bark cloth pattern of the garment and its matching hat. At least Sandburg had let him keep his trousers underneath.

He sighed. Well, this whole thing certainly was – unique. But what would he expect from Sandburg? He wondered, again, where Jim was taking them for the honeymoon. He'd refused to say all along. Simon had bet Peru. He figured that with all these requests for blessings, they'd want the Chopec's, too.

Jim nodded to him, indicating that the last of the guests had arrived. Finally! Simon could see the tenseness in his old friend's face. He was sure it wouldn't relax until he had his Guide in his sight. He led Jim, and the rest of the people of the Panther Village, toward the amphitheatre-like space in the woods. He walked slowly to the beat of the drums and pipe echoing in the space, his feet crunching the pine needles below. Simon's face was grave, but he was mentally going over his checklist. Rings—yes. Vows—they got 'em. Flowers—that was Naomi's department.

The late morning was cool and pleasant. The sounds of voices were subdued. He spared a thought for his friend's extraordinary perception. Did he smell the clean air, or were the combined scents of the guests a problem? Were the stress and anticipation eroding his control? As they approached the site, Simon could see the officiant was waiting by a stone pedestal which had been laid with a cloth and a heap of flowers.

Whoa, there was quite a crowd. Okay, he could make out Naomi in a green dress, and Blair behind her, approaching from the opposite direction, followed by a group of "villagers." He twisted his head around and, sure enough, he could see that Jim's eyes—and surely all his other senses—were focused on his Guide with all the intensity he possessed. Simon was privileged to see, at that moment, the enormous radiant grin that transformed Jim's face at the sight of his soon-to-be-mate. Simon felt the last of his reservations crumble. They were so happy together.

He faced forward. Wow, look at Sandburg. He was smiling blindingly at a point several paces behind Simon.

It was almost time for the challenge. The officiant—what was his name again--was a tall old Native American man dressed in his tribe's ceremonial robes. He called lifted his arms and faced Simon and the rest of his people. "Stop. Who approaches this sacred space, and for what purpose?" Simon's cue.

"The Sentinel of the Great City seeks to claim his Guide before the spirits and witnesses."

Simon could feel the Sentinel of the Great City burning a hole in the back of his head, because Simon was between him and his Guide. Well, that wouldn't last long.

He heard Naomi's voice, strong amid the hush of the day. "The Shaman of the Great City seeks the blessings of the spirits on the union between Guide and his Sentinel."

As he listened to the response from the officiant, Simon still thought they were crazy bringing this all out in the open. Simon didn't know what the hell hizzoner the mayor, spotted standing on the dirt looking uncomfortable, thought of the whole thing. But they had refused to change their minds. Jim had said, "It is what it is. It's not legal anyway, so we're just going to do it our way."

And their way meant this blessing under the trees, with the sound of the stream adding to the music of the day. Not a bad way, Simon supposed. The sheltered bowl wasn't, as far as he knew, consecrated ground for any religion—the hotel had merely enlarged and landscaped a natural feature for the convenience of its guests. But he also knew enough, even without Blair's lectures, to understand that people sometimes made their own symbols. He thought of the broom he and Joan had jumped over at their wedding. He thinks she still has it in a closet somewhere.

The native shaman gave permission to approach, and Simon lifted a heavy white flower and leaf lei from the pedestal and carefully placed it over Jim's head. He gave Jim a ritual kiss on both cheeks, and then happily stepped back, his main participation over. After all, as Blair had carefully explained, his primary duty was as chief witness. He eyed Blair and Naomi intently as she repeated the gesture, giving him a mother's blessing. His cop's eye automatically took in details; there were always questions about this later.

Sandburg looked as joyful as any bride in his white finery. Simon was almost sure he actually glowed in the dim light of the glade. He wore a garland similar to Jim's, but draped around his neck until it fell to the ground. Naomi, although stunning in a complicated floaty dress reminiscent of leaves, couldn't compete. Jim, in his power suit, looked like what he truly was: A white knight standing tall, exuding strength—and love. The two men eagerly reached out for each other.

The officiant began: "I greet you at this most solemn and joyful occasion, in the name of our friends, Jim and Blair. All of you who have gathered as friends and loved ones of these men, listen, for two villages become one this day. Leave aside your partisan loyalties and mingle as a single, joined family of man, to witness these two men's vows of commitment." The shaman chivvied the crowd closer, so that the people of the teams were mixed together with the more recently arrived guests. "As the two villages are joined by ties of friendship, so shall Jim and Blair be joined by words of love and devotion."

Simon watched as the crowd melded together in celebration. Then he watched his two best friends exchange rings and say the words that bound them together forever.

***

Naomi looked around in satisfaction. The florist at the hotel had done a wonderful job, even with the large special order of flower and herb leis and garlands. The mess tent was decorated with garlands of tribal beads, bells, feathers, and tassels; the tables were set up with pots of herbs and seasonal greenery; and Champagne and strawberries were being passed around. The caterers had almost finished setting up for the reception meal.

It was so nice to finally be able help plan a wedding for her son. The ceremony was so profound, and she was so proud of Blair! Oh, Blair had all sorts of ideas on the general scope and content of the whole weekend, but Naomi fancied she provided a few touches to flesh the concept out. She worked with the wedding planner and Rhonda, Simon's secretary (and didn't Simon look handsome in his caftan) and they planned all sorts of enhancements that those two boys were just too busy to think about, like the wedding favors. She also made sure they had a photographer--to think that Blair insisted on no photos during the ceremony. At least he had allowed her to arrange for a photography session afterwards.

She was having so much fun as the Headwoman of Wolf Village. She fingered the short wand-like noisemaker tucked into her dress that she used to call the gathering. How clever of Blair to think of all this! She had helped plan the activities and the pranks against Jim's team. Blair had explained that it was just for fun, as an echo of past practices, and nothing mean or destructive was to be attempted. She and Henri organized the team to decorate the "getaway car," i.e., Jim's truck, with boxer flags and giant stuffed animals—a wolf and a black panther--strapped to the roof. She kept an eye on all the young people in the camp, and made sure they were participating appropriately.

Blair had given her a great gift by including her, and by allowing her to participate in the cleansing and grooming ritual. She cherished the opportunity to be so intimate with her son on his wedding day. He told her he wasn't a bride, but he really was, in a way. The Guide comes to the Sentinel, isn't that what he said? And he looks so beautiful!

She beamed at her two sons. After a ceremony like that, no one could deny that Jim was her son-in-law. Except for those misbegotten SOBs in Capitol Hill. In fact, when she left, she ought to talk to a few people she knew. It was really intolerable the way gays were discriminated against.

But she wasn't going to ruin her happiness and her sons' by thinking about that now! She'd rather look at the brightness and joy on her darling's face. He and his spouse were receiving a long line of well wishers. The two men were seated by tables at the mess tent, which had been transformed into a tribal fantasy for the occasion. Jim and Blair were encouraging each guest to take a boutonniere, a lei or garland, or some beads for the reception. Blair said, you join people together and create a festival when you dress up. So, the mixed bag of wedding guests, comprised of cops, university students and faculty, assorted civic leaders and businessmen, and a random sampling of humanity which Jim and Blair knew, stood awkwardly around with their flowers. They should loosen up! Naomi was never surprised at the easy way her son made friends. She was so like him.

She watched the way he looked up at Jim, his whole heart in his eyes. Maybe her son wasn't so much like her, after all. He had a need for rootedness, and he had found a home in Jim. Maybe Jim wouldn't be her first choice in a spouse for Blair, but you couldn't deny they were good for each other. Their auras practically outshone the sun, so happy were they together. Her baby hadn't done too badly for himself.

Her mind flinched away from the hurt she had done him by releasing his dissertation. Inadvertently, of course. How was she to know what a mess her favor would create? Determinedly, she focused her thoughts back on the wedding. She wondered where Jim was taking them for the honeymoon. Maybe she should go on a trip soon? There was that nice little place in Morocco. Evidently, she was having trouble focusing and could use a good cleansing routine.

***

Jonas Arthur waited by the Sentinel's Tent for his turn. He needed to say goodbye, and add a private word with those two before he left the campsite. They were getting their pictures taken, giving last minute instructions to the wedding party, and making sure all their items were packed up before they left on their honeymoon. He went over his final blessing in his head. He looked at his watch. He had to get back in time for the once-a-week dinner with his extended family, and the newlyweds still had to make their "grand getaway."

A tall blonde woman talking to a hotel staff member and was fussing with large bags full of--stuffed animals? Oh, wedding souvenirs--the wolf and the jaguar. He wondered if the two men understood their significance. He suspected they did.

The two main attendants, Ms. Sandburg and--what *was* the man's name?-- were holding large bouquets of herbs and greenery, to be tossed by both men to the crowd for special blessings.

He grinned to himself. He remembered the poleaxed look on both of their faces at their first meeting, when he had greeted Sandburg as an equal. Dr. Sandburg may be a modest young man, but he was a shaman rising in power. He and his Sentinel failed to appreciate just how well they were known in certain circles. They were to be instructed, supported, and protected at all costs. These two were on a path that few men chanced.

He thought back over the unconventional ritual he had just presided over, which, as far as he could tell, was completely self-invented. That boy may draw his practices from all over, but he sure has a shaman's intuition and touch for the dramatic. No one in the audience could miss the symbolism or fail to be moved by the simple but powerful ceremony.

In all his years, Jonas had been witness to some pretty incredible things. Things that most white men—most people—didn't get a chance to believe in. He had sensed the presence of powerful benign spirits of many types, flickering just beyond the edges of his vision, and the blessings of these beings were strong and true. The spirits of the universe had paused this day; bated until the final vows were exchanged and the two men's lips had met. He felt his broad face expand helplessly into a smile again. They were in for a wild ride!

***

Desultorily pushing a piece of wedding cake around on her plate, Jessica Flynn, also known as Mrs. The Honorable John Flynn, Mayor of Cascade, waited for her husband. The lush chocolate cake was delicious, but it was her third piece and she really shouldn't be eating it. Her feet hurt, too. The invitation had specified casual or celebratory attire, and good walking shoes, but her brown boots pinched her toes after a while. She should have worn her black slacks.

She looked around. She was seated at a table with an attractive couple, and another man --his police partner, she thought--who were discussing permaculture gardening. The girl was apparently an architect; she really should be doing a little networking—her husband was always interested in urban renewal. Her husband, however, was off talking to Simon Banks about Jim and Blair.

She was glad she pressed John about approaching them for an invitation, even though the whole thing had been a big headache for him. He'd had to issue a press statement about the "hero cops' gay marriage" story, not to mention that the City was losing its most effective detectives. She still remembered how quickly the two policemen had found the man who murdered Claire, her friend in the Heights district. Whatever else they were, they were good cops.

She knew her husband had been in intense contact with the Governor, the Lieutenant Governor, and the Attorney General about offering them some kind of special deputy position, so the government wouldn't lose them as a resource or have to pay them an exorbitant consultants' fee. She hoped they took that sabbatical they were talking about instead. They looked so *happy* together.

Those two men . . . maybe she ought to invite them to dinner, soon. She had a feeling they were good people to have as friends. Besides, gay men were always fantastic guests at dinner parties. They had manners, and watching them bait the straight men was always fun. She thought with glee of the scoop she had over her friends. Gay weddings were so chic now, and this one had been a doozy. She began to mentally compose a list of wedding details.

The reception had featured lots of very good champagne and a full brunch buffet. It was followed by some kind of strange "blessing" dance by some very flexible women in red dresses and bells, an incomprehensible speech by Dr. Sandburg, and a spirited round of wedding Frisbee between two teams before the two men had finally dashed to their vehicle.

Standing on the bed of the truck, Jim had shouted out the name of the winner of the honeymoon pool: Simon Banks, for guessing, "Peru," as the closest to South America. The Indian shaman had given a parting blessing. Then, in lieu of bride's bouquets, the two each blindly tossed a large sheaf of greenery and herbs into the crowd for good luck.

The getaway had been a madhouse. Somehow the media had infiltrated the camp so there was a rowdy crowd of protective cops and wedding guests trying to fend off the reporters and allow the partners to leave. You could see Ellison getting ticked off, poor man. Finally, Dr. Sandburg sweet-talked the crowd into letting them go, and they left in a scramble of honking vehicles, both escort and pursuers, blue and white boxer flags trailing behind.

Jessica rubbed a bruised spot on her feet where someone in the crowd had stepped on her. The ceremony had been so odd. At least they hadn't thrown rice. What religion was that exactly, with all that talk about spirits and guides? Was that what those Wiccans did? She wondered if Jim and Blair really were some kind of new-age guardians of the tribe. Her husband certainly seemed to think so.

She petted the fragrant "bouquet" of herbs that she had caught, and looked at the little pile of sweatshirts and stuffed animals she had been given for her grandkids. Spiritual guardians or not, they certainly were fine specimens of men. She'd heard the reception gossip that they were waiting for the wedding to sleep together. She wasn't sure she believed it—did gay men act that way?—but maybe, tonight, after her husband had passed out, she'd let herself imagine what they were doing on their honeymoon. She felt a tingle of anticipation, and no longer felt the pinch of her shoes.

***

CODA:

Well, this certainly is . . . interesting, Jim thought. He felt his eyebrows go up as he got his first look at the pool at San Alfonso del Mar. The "World's Largest Swimming Pool" certainly was big. At least it smelled clean.

Okay, so the whole wedding thing had gotten a little out of hand there at the end, what with Blair's over-active imagination, the enthusiastic response of all their friends, and Naomi's last-minute tinkering. Not to mention to goddamn press. Who knows what kind of story they'll return home to? All because Blair had wanted a house.

Nobody had guessed the ultimate destination for the honeymoon. Simon's guess of Peru was close, but Jim decided he would save that for another time. Family visits were a different kind of trip altogether. He'd sent a message to Incacha's tribe about the union of Sentinel and Guide, and he was sure he'd seen Incacha's spirit present at the wedding, along with their spirit guides, and a whole host of beings, human and otherwise, out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't really talked about that yet with his personal shaman, but Jim was sure he'd eventually get to it. They were just too happy right now to pick things apart.

After riding on horseback through Ecuador's hacienda country, they had toured the Galapagos Islands. Talk about an experience of a lifetime! The natural beauty, strangeness, and aliveness of the islands and sea were wonderful to sense, and he and Blair had a blast. Jim figured he got the equivalent of at least two college-level seminars on history, evolution and biology through his ever-knowledgeable partner's lectures. Jim periodically had to apply the only time-tested way to shut his voluble partner up: a tongue or other body part inserted into the mouth. Jim carefully stored the sensory memory of those experiences, and those nights, for recall. They were worth remembering, as was their actual wedding night. They had blessed the new bed in the loft, for the first time, together, before heading out on this trip.   
Snagging his Guide, who was still gaping at the sight of the beach-sized saltwater pool, he steered them over to a likely spot to soak in the salt water pool and lie in the sun. Their trip was almost over. They were making a stop at this resort because Sandburg once mentioned he wanted to see this marvel of engineering. After a couple of days trying to get from one end of the pool to the other (it really was quite large), they'd move on to Buenos Aires to try out their tango before finally heading back to Cascade and the joys of construction financing.

They were discreet at this Chilean hotel, but lounging on floats in the pool, Jim's eyes never left the smaller man. In the chaise next to him, Sandburg was talking excitedly about the construction of the pool and the filtration system he'd read about in the guidebook, but Jim was just watching him talk. He was so beautiful like this, brown from the sun, relaxed, with sparkling drops of water covering his body and reflecting the sun, and his, all his . . .

Oops. There he went in his "pay attention" voice again. What was the question?

Jim smiled.

***


	3. The Blessing

Part 3: The Blessing

Jim stood at the kitchen sink, washing his hands. He and Blair had gotten an early start on the house that morning; he in his "man cave," (Jim smirked to himself, knowing that Blair would never let it go if he found out Jim was thinking of his workshop like that) and Blair in the garden, working on the planting beds and fruit trees.

He glanced up at the framed white "wedding Frisbee" mounted on the wall in the kitchen. It always made him smile, remembering their ceremony. Sandburg was always going on and on about rituals, and about the symbols they made for themselves. Well, their symbols were certainly unique. He remembered how they had jumped over the threshold of their new home, as bound partners, together.

Now Jim felt really good; light somehow. It must have been all the hard work and the satisfaction of working with his hands. Jim had been working with wood all day, crafting some cabinets for their offices. His arms felt heavy and warm, his head light from the repetitive rhythm of the tasks; or perhaps from hunger? He tried to remember what they had for breakfast, and frowned when he remembered Blair saying, "I'll just have some juice, thanks." So he had, too. No wonder.

He caught sight of his partner on the platform next to the hot tub, and stopped to admire him. He felt his heart swell as if his love resonated with the warmth and energy from his arms and his head. Blair was so beautiful and peaceful here. He was sitting on the wooden banquette in lotus pose, meditating. Jim wondered how long he had been at it without him noticing. Focusing his senses on his mate, he found Blair's heart and breathing to be even, strong--and speeding up.

Looking up, he realized the Blair was looking at him. In the dim light of dusk, the outline of his silhouette almost seemed to pulse, as if there were energy coming off him in waves. Blair smiled and stood up, slowly, gracefully. He came down the short steps and held out his hand.

Jim knew that something was up. Blair had that look. He smelled—spooky. Something was raising Jim's hackles; he could feel individual hairs on the back of his neck erecting. His blood began to pump faster in his body. The sounds and smells of his home seemed to come into sharp focus, as he took his Shaman's hand. Knowing it was useless, he nevertheless tried to ask, "What's up?"

Blair just shook his head and smiled. He led them out the door to the atrium space where long ago milkmaids dispensed ice cream, then the door to the outside. Suddenly they were outside their building, standing on the sidewalk. Nervously looking around to see if anyone was observing their strange behavior, Jim was compelled by Blair to walk to the end of their building, where it joined with the florist. Blair was just standing there, staring hard at the juncture where their property line began, holding fast to Jim's hand.

For several long minutes, Blair stood facing their home. He closed his eyes. Then he began to hum, softly, atonally. He began to subtly rock back and forth, and to drum the fingers of his other hand against his thigh. Blair's breathing began to speed up, and his lips began to move, forming consonants insensible even to his Sentinel.

Suddenly his eyes opened halfway, heavy lidded and unfocused, but looking up and down at the seam of their building. The words Blair was repeating began to make sense. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Quechua, Blair began to repeat variations of the phrases: "Bless us. I call on the spirits to bless this home. This is the home of Sentinel James and Guide Blair. Bless this home."

Blair began to move along the sidewalk, tugging Jim behind him. Jim was grateful that the street was deserted due to the evening hour. Blair stood in front of their door, his head moving as his eyes limned the doorway, raised up to the roofline, and back down, tracing the seams of the atrium roofline. He spent some time focusing on the door jam, the door knob, and the lock, and his mantra was supplemented by, "Protect this home. Let no evildoer pass."

Yeah, Jim thought. Let no evildoer pass. I can get with that. Glancing at his partner, he noted the unfocused eyes and calm concentration and decided to take a chance. Taking a deep breath, he slowed his mind as Blair had taught him and unfocused his eyes, letting his powerful sight reach into other spectrums. Sure enough, Jim thought he could see, after a while, a fine network of light spreading over his home, creeping along in their wake, webbing the home in love and protection. So he added his thoughts to his Shaman's, sending his feelings of protectiveness and defense through his link to Blair.

He followed Blair as he walked around the block. Blair kept his focus on the outside walls, placing a shield that was both a blessing and a warding. When they came to the back side of their property, where the back wall joined with the florist on the other side, Blair gave him a furtive look, and shook off Jim's hand. He proceeded to scamper up the brick, using handholds that looked as if they were set there. Not questioning his partner's suddenly monkey-like abilities, Jim heaved himself up after his partner. They scrambled up onto their sitting roof, then down the side of the wall toward the walkway. All the while, Blair chanted blessings and protection into the perimeter.

Blair grabbed Jim's hand again, and went back to his work. They started along the walkway toward their bedroom, but Jim could tell that Blair's focus was still on the wall separating their property from the neighbors'. His Shaman entered their bedroom, and finally came the corner of their property, on the landing outside their bedroom above the atrium. Holding his hand out flat against the wall, Blair shuddered once and took a deep breath. Looking at his Sentinel, he managed a smile, and whispered, "Three times around, Jim. This time, we'll do the inside. You with me?"

"Always." Jim nodded, and they set off once again. This time around, it took longer, because they had to wind their way inside and outside of rooms, and walls, and windows. They spent a lot of time sending their energy into the fixtures of their home. Jim found he could add a lot of strength and—order—or whatever it was, reinforcing and supplementing Blair's power. Thanks to Blair's patient tutelage over the years, his visualization skills were excellent. Order was at Jim's core, and strength, and protection, and he visualized pouring those qualities into the house. Into the windows, so they wouldn't rot. Into the pipes, so they would flow with clean, fresh water. Into the handles, and switches, and the thousand details that took so long and frustrated them during the remodeling of the house. Now he poured order, and Blair poured magic, and he could see the webbing of light seeping into their walls, giving their home a glowing shell of love.

By the end of second circuit, his knees felt a little wobbly, and Blair was shaking. Glowing, but shaking. His eyes beamed wide and blue, and his mouth was sweet and happy. "Once more, for love and luck!" So they went around the house again, fast, taking an inside/outside, up and down route dictated by Blair. They strengthened the protections, particularly around the perimeter, the foundation, the doors, and windows. Jim actually pointed out a weak spot which they concentrated on until the webbing was solid, and tried not to think about how this all seemed like something out of Harry Potter. Blair spent a long time at the spot where they had climbed up, adding additional suggestions making passersby ignore the area. The handholds were no longer easily discernable to the casual eye.

Eventually they stood in the middle of the courtyard, on the old brick and stones that Blair had laid in a spiral pattern. Sentinel and Guide were wrapped around each other, too, no beginning or end. Blair was hoarse by now, his never-ending litany changing slightly as he poured on the power. "Bless this home. This is the home of Sentinel James and Guide Blair. Let no strife enter this home. Bless this home." Finally, Blair glided toward the same inside corner as before. They climbed the stairs to the landing, and Blair slapped his whole body against the wall, pulling Jim's body against his. There was a sensation which Jim could not identify. Like the snap of a rubber band, the power in Blair and Jim rushed out of their bodies.

Jim opened his eyes wide, feeling as if he had awoken from a dream. Blair slid down the wall, and Jim followed him into a heap.

"Wow." Blair said, sounding surprised as hell, now.

"Care to tell me what the hell that was?"

"Er, well. I should think it was obvious. We, uh, blessed the house."

"Yeah, I got that, O great Shaman. Where did you learn how to do that? That's—some serious shit. I could see, literally see, the protection that you wove into the house."

Blair sighed, and shifted so he was cuddled against Jim. "I really don't know. It just seemed right. And it wasn't all me, so don't take that tone." Blair poked him. "I felt your energy in there, too. You're the protector, so that was a big part of it."

Jim felt ready to sleep for a week, and could sense his partner's exhaustion, too. He could also feel the power and protection they imbued their house with, so he knew something had happened. But he wasn't ready to let it go so casually. "So you just know this stuff? With no training?"

Blair let his body slump against Jim's, shifting tiredly. Jim felt like he could sleep for a week. "I have plenty of training, Jim. What do you think Naomi was doing with the sage?"

"Besides trying to kill me? Probably not a whole lot. No, this is in you, Chief."

"And you. And on that note . . . how 'bout a little nap?"

So Jim took his personal Shaman, Guide, and love, to bed and found he had some energy left, after all.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> A "house" fic, like many of my others. Weddings are silly, but I had fun with this one. Also posted at ASR3 and slightly edited from that version.


End file.
